


The Sacrifice: Coda

by Hinn_Raven



Series: Deal with the Devil [2]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Blind Character, Dogs, Gen, Healing, RvB Fluff Week, Service Dogs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-27
Updated: 2018-03-27
Packaged: 2019-04-13 12:53:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14112756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hinn_Raven/pseuds/Hinn_Raven
Summary: After his ordeal at the hands of Felix, Donut decides that Locus needs a guide dog.





	The Sacrifice: Coda

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BoxOnTheNile](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BoxOnTheNile/gifts).



> A lot of people requested this one, including some people before Fluff Week even began. Main inspiration credit goes to onthenilerivah and an anon though, who wanted to see Locus with a guide dog! 
> 
> Credit for the dogs’ names goes to sroloc--elbisivni and renaroo, who were both very helpful. And, as a bonus to some of my regular readers, there’s a familiar face present! Don’t worry about it if you don’t catch it though, it’s not really important. 
> 
> Warnings: The previous fic exists, and Locus is recovering from it. Probably should read that first.

Healing is awkward and slow, and Locus hates it.

It is humiliating, to be brought down to this. Screaming in the night like a child, limping his way through the base, hands on the walls so that he can find his way. He needs an escort to go down to the beach. He needs to ask Donut to read him the labels on his teabags, because no matter what order he leaves them in, a day in the presence of the Reds and Blues throws everything into disorder. Attempts to organize his closet by color are the same.

He says nothing to complain, of course. Them coming to rescue him is a kindness that he cannot even begin to fathom. He didn’t deserve it, and he has no right to refuse their help, even if he knows that it is pathetic. He’s a wanted criminal with more blood on his hands than could be imagined. He’s the monster that has haunted many of them for years.

He’s the man who needs to ask Grif to help him so much as fill the dishwasher.

There’s nothing to do with himself now. He drifts without thought or care, unable to even clean his guns or look at the stars.

His hair is growing back slowly, and Tucker helps him keep it neat and even. Locus can’t even maintain his own appearance, a humiliation that burns through him like coals, leftover from Felix’s bonfire.

“Alright,” Donut declares one day. It has been three months since they rescued him. “I’ve made some phone calls. I know we were going to try the cane for a while longer, but Caboose broke the last one again—”

“Tucker did it.”

“—and so I think it’s time we get you a dog.”

Locus frowns. “Are you certain?”

“Absolutely,” Donut declares. “I’ve got a contact who’ll keep it off the record, and she’s got a little place where she breeds her own dogs and trains them up. She thinks she’ll have a match for you, and if she doesn’t, she’ll be able to find you one through her contacts.”

Locus hesitates. “You don’t need to do this.”

“Of _course_ I do, silly,” Donut says, and there’s something strange and brittle in his voice that Locus can’t understand.  Many of them get that way when Locus tries to refuse their kindness. They blame themselves for his state, as if he had not gone willingly into the lion’s den with his eyes wide open.

They all load into the ship, and Grif drives them.

The place they find themselves in smells of dust. It’s hot and dry, and Locus feels the sun beating down on his face.

“Frank!” A woman’s voice calls.

“Martha!” Donut calls back, delighted. There’s the sound of people moving, and then laughter.

A dog barks, and something cold presses against Locus’ hand. He jumps away.

“Oh, don’t mind Shadow,” the woman’s voice says. “So I’m guessing you’re the friend who needs a dog?”

Locus feels warm, and he knows that it isn’t because of the weather on this planet. “Yes.”

A hand grabs his and pumps it up and down. “I’m Martha,” she says.

“Sam,” he says. Locus is the name of a wanted criminal, and Donut has given him strict instructions to not let that part on.

“Well, follow me then,” she says. She takes his arm with an off-putting confidence. She’s lead blind people before, clearly.

“We’ve got steps here,” she says. “Three of them.”

Locus keeps track carefully, and she leads him inside, the Reds and Blues trailing behind him.

“Frank,” she says. “Why don’t you show the rest of your friends the kennels? One of Shadow’s pups just had her own litter.”

“ _PUPPIES!”_ Caboose yells, and there’s the loud noise of most of the others leaving.

Tucker’s hand takes his, and Locus feels Grif sit down on his other side. Washington is there too, Locus suspects, because Washington is loathe to let Tucker out of his sight, ever since Felix had returned from the dead.

“So,” she says. “Just got a few preliminary questions before we start matching you up.”

The dog presses against Locus’ leg, as if demanding attention. Locus tries to ignore it.

“Yes?”

“You ever had a dog before? Frank’s call said your sight problems are recent, but like, have you had a normal dog. Even when you were a kid.”

“Not… really,” Locus says. When he’d first been in the army, there had been a stray that he and a few of the others had fed. After his first discharge, he had spent some time volunteering at a shelter on the advice of one of the veterans’ aides. But that had not lasted long, just like the discharge had, and after the second enlistment, he hadn’t gone back.

“Hmm,” she says. “Okay, next question, what’s the weather like where you guys live? Rainy? Near the water? How warm?”

“It’s a beach climate,” Tucker says. He squeezes Locus’ hand.

“Right, so not any of the ones from Kennel B then,” she mutters. “Bad swimmers. Now, do you think there is any chance you will be seeing combat in the near future?”

Locus hesitates. “It is… not impossible.”

“We’re _retired_ ,” Grif complains, and Washington and Tucker snort to show what they think that means.

“Hmm. Would you be interested in one of my… exotic breeds?”

“Exotic?” Locus says warily.

“I’ve got some experimental crosses with alien dogs,” she says. “Hardier than normal dogs, so I sometimes recommend that people in volatile situations get one of them.”

“You can crossbreed alien dogs and normal dogs?” Grif asks. “Isn’t that, playing God or something like that?”

“Nah, it’s just a matter of setting the mood right, and teaching the bitches to speak the respective languages.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Locus says. He can picture the creatures she’s describing perfectly, and he’s been attacked by enough of those to know that being lead around by one, even if it’s not fully alien, might not be the best idea.

“So not Kennel A either,” she says, as if it’s nothing. “Now, okay, tell me to fuck off if you like, but I’m gonna be an asshole here and ask how you lost your sight.”

“Hey!” Tucker protests.

“Not like, details or anything, but was it traumatic? Because if it was, I might recommend you get one of my dogs that double as trauma dogs. I’m not saying you have PTSD or anything, because I know you military types get up and arms about getting proper diagnoses, but if you get nightmares or space out or things like that, one of my therapy dogs might be a good thing.”

“You can train them to do both?” Washington says, curious.

“It’s the 26th Century, Freckles, I can teach these dogs to tap dance if I want.”

“Really Wash?” Tucker demands. “She apparently gets German Shepherds to fuck Sanghelli Danes, and _that’s_ your concern?”

“They’re not called Sanghelli Danes,” Martha objects. She does not, however, reject that she’s specifically breeding the German Shepherds with the alien dogs.

“Sam definitely could use one of those,” Grif breaks in. “Therapy dog things.”

Locus stiffens and bows his head.

The woman hums. “Normally, I’d caution you that I usually charge more for those,” she says.

Locus bites back the instinctual urge to say he can afford it. Because he can’t anymore.

After Chorus, Locus had been wealthy. He’d had access to his own accounts, as well as Felix’s. He’d sent money to Chorus, in the guise of normal charitable donations, but too much money could easily draw attention to himself, so he’d just left it, in the various accounts, scattered across the galaxy. He’d only moved around the money that Hargrove or Charon would know about. But the rest… had been exactly where Felix had known to find them.

And Simmons had not yet been able to figure out where Felix had moved the money too.

“But,” Martha says, not knowing what Locus was thinking, “Since Frank’s cashed in about two decades of favors, I think I can swing you a deal.”

The dog barks suddenly.

“Alright,” she says. “Let’s go to Kennel C and find you a dog.”

The dog suddenly climbs into his lap and licks his face.

“Shadow!” Martha reprimands. The dog lets out a whine, then jumps to the floor. Cautiously, Locus reaches down and pets it. He gets licked again for his trouble, but Martha laughs.

“She likes you,” she says. “That’s good.”

She guides them out of the room they’re in, into a cooler place that sounds like it’s made of cement.

“What do you think Shadow?” Martha asks the dog, as if expecting an answer. Locus wonders how, exactly, this woman knows Donut. “Think he’ll like Oscar’s kids?”

There’s a bark that somehow sounds affirmative, and there’s a sound of a kennel being opened. Barks fill the room suddenly; there’s at least three dogs present, probably more, and the woman guides out one of them, which immediately collides into Locus’ knees.

“This is Cricket,” the woman says. “She’s quieter, which I think you might like. Say hello, Cricket.”

The dog lets out a soft, gentle bark, and licks his hand.

Locus carefully gets to his knees and holds out his hand for further inspection.

The dog’s fur is soft beneath his hands as he carefully explores her face. The dog finishes licking his hand and proceeds to begin to clean his face. There’s the sound of a tail hitting a concrete floor, and the sound of Grif laughing. Locus suspects he’s taking pictures.

“What do you think?” Martha asks. “She’s a black lab. Bit hyper, but probably one of the smarter ones. She’s Shadow’s great-granddaughter, so she’s got a bit of an attitude. She _loves_ beef jerky, and I’m pretty sure she’s learned to open doors when I’m not looking, but she’s pretty well behaved in general.”

“She’s perfect,” Locus says, and Cricket licks his face again. He feels something strange building up in his chest. Not quite a laugh, but it’s… warm. And pleasant. He thinks he’s smiling.

“You’ll need to take her on a walk at least once a day, for at least a mile,” she says.

“We’re gonna have to teach Caboose not to pet her when she’s on duty,” Tucker mutters. “Jesus, this is going to be _hard_.”

“We’ll manage,” Washington says, and Locus wonders if he’s meant to be hearing this. Cricket nudges him, and Martha laughs, handing him a square of something strangely textured. “Give this to her, she’ll love you forever.”

Locus feeds her what he strongly suspects is beef jerky, and the sound of the tail wagging gets even louder.

“Does she swim?” He asks.

She lets out a laugh. “She’s a Labrador. She’s well trained enough that she won’t go pulling you into the ocean while she’s on duty, but once that harness is off, she’ll be up to her neck in the sea spray, as happy as a… well, as happy as a Labrador in the water.”

Locus touches her ears. They’re soft and bend easily.

“Would you like that?” He asks, too softly for the others to hear.

Cricket lets out a small noise that he suspects is agreement.

“ _TUCKER THERE IS A PUPPY AND I NAMED IT SNOWBALL, AND CAN WE KEEP IT CAN WE KEEP IT.”_

Caboose’s presence fills the entire room, and it’s assisted by the sound of the others being with him. The sound of yipping fills the air, and Cricket makes a small whining noise.

“I’m sorry Martha,” Donut says. “He’s… very excited.”

“I like the irony,” she says. “A black lab named Snowball.” She hums, considering. “Is this the friend who you think will have issues with the don’t-pet-the-guide-dog-while-she’s-on-duty rule?”

“Yes,” everyone choruses, including Caboose.

“Well then,” she laughs. “Snowball’s litter was supposed to go up for adoption anyways, and…” there’s a pause, and a small, somehow indignant yip, “he’s old enough to leave his mamma now anyways. So I don’t see why you can’t bring Snowball along as well.”

Caboose lets out a delighted cheer, and Martha makes a noise that makes Locus suspect that Caboose might have picked her up and spun her around in a hug.

“Hey Sam,” Tucker says. “Hold out your hands.”

Locus does without a twinge of apprehension, and something soft, small, and squirming is placed in his hands and, without further ado, immediately begins to lick his face.

Locus holds Snowball very carefully, afraid to drop him. Cricket nudges his leg and makes another one of those not-quite-barks, so Locus holds Snowball down for her to inspect.

Cricket begins to lick Snowball, and then Locus again for good measure.

A smile begins to bloom on his face for what feels like the first time since Locus had woken up to find Felix in his bedroom, many months ago.

**Author's Note:**

> Fluff Week prompts are still open at @secretlystephaniebrown on tumblr!


End file.
